


Like the Surface of Still Water

by snarkyscorp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/pseuds/snarkyscorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was distracted by the way the light caught the movement of his muscles: every tense recoil and shift, every convulse and twitch, and the final moment of ecstasy when everything released and smoothed out like the surface of still water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like the Surface of Still Water

  


  
**Like the Surface of Still Water**   


"You know, this was probably a mistake," Scorpius said, and it wasn't the first Harry had heard of the argument. He looked at his watch, for what Harry realised was the tenth time in the last half hour, and then looked at Harry again with an expression of utter weariness that dragged Harry down with it. "I ought'n't have stayed the night. Really. We should have—"

"Stopped mid-snog to go our separate ways?" Harry offered, leaning back to get comfortable with his arms behind his head.

Scorpius snorted and turned to give him a very serious look, the kind of look that could crumble whatever resolve Harry had staked in the conversation. But, Harry was easily distracted. The morning sun had just begun to show through the drapes, and it cast a beautiful light on Scorpius' face and the angular lines that drew his shoulders, chest, and the twist of his back. Harry allowed his gaze to follow the subtle shadows, which laced down his spine and disappeared under the blankets that barely clung and bunched at his hips. He'd dragged nearly all of them off Harry sometime between their last shag and waking, but Harry didn't mind the slight chill—it was worth it just to have Scorpius still in his bed, no matter how clothed or not. It wasn't like him to stay over.

Besides, it was an age-old conversation that Scorpius liked to initiate _after_ they had already had mind-blowing, incredible, out of this world sex that knocked bruises into the wall from the rocking headboard. Scorpius would start with simple reasoning that Harry couldn't argue with—their age difference, the Auror thing, Harry's kids, Scorpius' father—and then he'd move on to the fact that he wasn't even looking for a relationship that serious and Harry was fresh out of a divorce and Harry had just learned to dodge the bullets before they were fired. It was all bollocks anyway: he liked Scorpius, had liked him since the moment they met to be honest with himself, and Scorpius liked him, quite a bit more than he was usually willing to admit.

It could be simple, if Scorpius let it. But Scorpius was complicated. Or at least, he liked to complicate things that could be simple. And now, at eight in the morning on a lazy Saturday, Harry was just not in the mood to be patronised.

"Harry," Scorpius said, in the tone of voice like Harry was some imbecilic child in need of reproach. He often said _Harry_ like that when he didn't like what Harry was saying.

"Scorpius," Harry countered, mimicking him with a wry grin to take the pressure off the conversation. "You're twenty years old. I'm sure your crotchety old father—"

"Harry!"

"—will forgive you a late night or two." Harry's grin only grew. "Well, he is. Crotchety, I mean."

"You're just as old and twice as crotchety, Harry, really." The hint of a grin played at Scorpius' lips and then was gone. "Anyway, my father isn't who I'm worried about."

Scorpius turned away and hung his head. Harry was again distracted by the way the light caught every shift of muscles. Harry loved the angles of Scorpius' lean body, their limber length—especially when Scorpius was stretched out beneath him and Harry was inside, seeing every tense recoil and shift, every convulse and twitch, and the final moment of ecstasy when everything released and smoothed out like the surface of still water. Scorpius was like water in many ways, raging and foaming one minute and cool and tenuous the next, certainly slippery and always refreshing.

But Harry tried to concentrate, because with that tight posture, something was surely the matter, and he didn't want to ignore any festering issues.

Harry sat up and dragged the covers off of their bodies. He scooted forward, ignoring the sigh that Scorpius let loose presumably in frustration, until his knee rested against the sumptuous curve of Scorpius' arse. Instantly, both hands rose, and he lay them atop Scorpius' shoulders and began to knead the sore and overwrought muscles until they began to give way—until _Scorpius_ began to give way, his shoulder slouched and his head hanging.

"There," Harry murmured, kissing the spot just behind Scorpius' ear, the spot that always—even now—earned him a wonderful, quietly-moaned response. "Now, tell me what's really bothering you."

"I told you," Scorpius whispered, his voice laced with a whimper as Harry's knuckles dug into a tender spot. "I ought not to have spent the night. It was…it was…" Scorpius searched for the proper word. "…foolish. Irrational. There will be consequences now, and I'm not sure that I…oh, Harry, you know I like you, you're great—you make _me_ feel great—but we don't have to be anything official now, do we?"

Scorpius turned to look at him, his gaze imploring. Harry could feel all the warmth he'd worked into the limber muscles tightening beneath his fingertips, and a cold weight settled in his chest. As much as Harry tried to give Scorpius what he needed, Harry needed things too.

Harry understood, all too well, of course. Scorpius was young. He wanted to taste and see and smell everything, wanted to sow his oats in a world that was open to him for all possibilities. Scorpius didn't want to be tied down at twenty years old, didn't want something serious with a divorced wizard nearly thrice his senior with three kids and paparazzi and baggage. Harry understood, and he knew all Scorpius needed was space. Still, it was one thing to understand and another to agree with the outcome.

So Harry leaned in and pressed a kiss to Scorpius' lips. "We can be whatever you want us to be, so long as there _is_ an us," Harry said. "You know how I feel. Just because you spent the night doesn't mean we're any different than we were yesterday or last week or six months ago. All right? Merlin, you're worked up."

Scorpius turned away from him with a relieved sigh and slumped again. "Thank you, Harry."

"You're welcome." Harry nipped his ear and dragged Scorpius' back against his front, Harry's hands already rushing down over Scorpius' relaxed body. "Now, come here and let me shag you proper before I send you back to Daddy."

"Harry!"

There was a scuffle, a gentle wrestling, but Harry, as usual had the upper hand, because he wasn't against tickling to trick Scorpius into submission, as long as he got him splayed out on his back and smiling that smile that took Harry's breath away. Harry pinned Scorpius' wrists and wrangled a knee between Scorpius' pale thighs, nudged his leg up against Scorpius' bollocks and leaned over him to watch Scorpius gasp for air between laughter and arousal.

Harry looked and took in his fill, because he wasn't sure how long it would last like this. Like water, ever-changing and more beautiful for it.


End file.
